


Beneath A Shroud Of Frost

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bad things happen but there is always hope, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Mission Gone Wrong, Podfic Welcome, Pre-Relationship, depends how you look at it, or right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13222413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Overwatch and Talon are racing to recover secrets buried since the Omnic Crisis.Even in the coldest place on Earth, Widowmaker claims she cannot feel the chill, but her emotions are another matter.





	Beneath A Shroud Of Frost

**Author's Note:**

> One of the "Secret Santa" fic exchanges I did this year contacted me because they were afraid of being short a gift. Things worked out, but by the time they told me it wouldn't be needed, I had more than half this story written. I was just going to leave it be, but...well. Why _not_ finish it?
> 
> So here you go: One last story for 2017.

The bright red blood was splattered across the snow and ice like flower petals resting atop a white sheet.

 _Gérard’s brother had scattered rose petals in the honeymoon suite,_ Widowmaker remembered. _Red, all over. Such a mess._

They’d laughed as Gérard had carried her into the hotel room, following the trail of petals to the bed. She’d insisted they find a broom and sweep them all into a corner.

 _Think of the poor cleaning staff,_ she’d said. _Besides, I need a little time to get out of this dress._

He’d taken the hint, but had left a few scattered around the headboard and pillows of their bed. Enough to be romantic without being completely ridiculous.

As she followed the blood trail, Widowmaker remembered Gérard lying next to her in that bed, a few rose petals caught in his hair. Her _husband_ , now, gazing lovingly at her in post-coital bliss.

The bitingly cold wind shifted and howled, making her ponytail snap against her neck. Despite claiming she didn’t feel the cold, Widowmaker still shivered at the memory of Gérard staring sightlessly up at her, the red splatters of blood spreading across the pillows from the exit wound, and a finer spray from the entrance wound spread across his neck and chest.

That blood had been flat, as lifeless as the corpse that it had leaked from. Most of it had soaked the sheets in crimson puddles and dried to a dull brown as she’d waited for Talon to retrieve her.

This blood was different. Still quite red thanks to the cold slowing the oxidation, frozen in round drops that almost looked like holly berries. It had an odd pudding-like texture when she tested one with the tip of her finger.

She sniffed carefully at the smear of crimson on her fingertip. The coppery smell was still quite strong. Fresh.

She was close.

It wasn’t long before she found the source of the trail, collapsed on her side in the snow. The glowing blue discs projected by the harness she wore flickered and sputtered, casting crazy shadows against the still falling snow.

She knelt down and put her fingers against Tracer’s neck. The heartbeat was still faster than her own, but not as strong as it should have been, and she did not react to her touch.

“You foolish girl,” she whispered. “Why would you do this?”

* * *

_Six hours earlier._

 

She stood at the grave and wondered why she had come here again.

Did she truly expect him to have any answers?

Some groundskeeper had swept away the faded petals of the tulip she had left last year, and removed the barren stem.

Where snow had covered the ground last year, today was a wet and grey Christmas in Paris, and everything in _Père Lachaise_ felt dark and dreary as a result. Even the air had an oddly muffled, heavy sense to it.

It was as if the entire city felt as dead as she did.

Still, the red of the fresh flowers she had carefully arranged atop the plot was a welcome burst of color, and it was...not _comforting_ , precisely, but familiar, perhaps. Some proof that she had once existed. That she’d felt something.

That they’d been happy.

_Is that what I feel when I fight that girl? Was it what I felt when I made a life with you?_

The gravestone did not offer an opinion.

Widowmaker wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when a sharp ping from the comm built into her visor grabbed her attention.

_“Lacroix."_

Even though it was incredibly unlikely Akande could see her, she straightened to attention out of long habit.

“Widowmaker here.”

_“Prepare for deployment. A transport is on its way to Orly to pick you up.”_

A frown of annoyance crossed her face. Her weapons and equipment were hidden nearby. Making to Orly wasn’t even that difficult, but something about this situation rankled.

“I was supposed to be at liberty until -”

 _“The machines do not care about holidays, and neither do I,”_ Akande interrupted sharply. _“You are the best suited to this operation. You will carry it out.”_

The rain had begun again. Just a few drops, but the air threatened a frigid deluge before long.

Perhaps it was just as well.

“Acknowledged.”

* * *

The transport was flying on autopilot, the stealthed craft piggybacking behind a scheduled commercial flight to enter Paris airspace, and it would evade detection by departing the same way.

An arctic camo version of her combat suit was waiting for her in the cargo hold, along with a matching recon visor and grapple, extreme cold lubricants for her Kiss, and a laptop that likely held her mission briefing files.

She changed into the mission equipment and prepared her rifle, then settled into a seat and activated the laptop.

“Hello, Lacroix.” O’Deorain stared out of the screen at her, and for a moment Widowmaker wondered if this was a live connection, but the doctor continued without waiting for a reply. “You’re being sent to an area near Tohmajärvi, Finland. Close to the arctic and quite good for keeping things cold.”  
  
The screen changed to maps and topography data, before zooming in to show a small set of what appeared to be bunkers.

“Prior to the Crisis, there was a Class A bioweapons research facility here - mostly underground, as you’d imagine. From all reports, a rather unpleasant place to find yourself, but they were doing interesting work with biogenics.”  

The bunkers were replaced with a wireframe showing a rough map of the facility that Widowmaker made a point of trying to memorize before O’Deorain appeared once again, apparently sitting at a desk in her lab in Oasis.

“Unfortunately we don’t have much data on the exact nature of their work, or an up to date inventory, because the lab was overrun during the early stages of the Crisis. The automated systems transmitted a message stating that quarantine and lockdown had been initiated, but no one returned to the facility after the war ended...until now.”

Satellite recon footage came up, the timestamps from early that morning.

Blocky, heavily armored shapes were moving between the overgrown, snow covered bunkers. Heavy Omnic chassis - all military grade.

“According to a few of Maximilian's contacts, some clever data miner unearthed the lab’s existence, and the Siberian Omnium dispatched some units via suborbital to see if they can recover the weapons for their own use.”

“Himself is not particularly concerned about the omnics using the weapons on the Russians, but we’d rather it come at a time of _our_ choosing.” O’Deorain’s mismatched eyes narrowed. “Your primary objective is to retrieve any and all viable biological samples, and destroy the machines. We’ll engineer appropriate countermeasures, then allow the samples to be ‘recovered’ once the time is right.”

Widowmaker nodded. _Simple enough._

O’Deorain’s face softened slightly as she sat back, her hands folding into her lap. “A stormfront is expected to move in not long after you arrive. Even with your enhanced biology and the equipment we’ve provided, the temperatures will be quite dangerous for you once the sun has set. Get the job done, trigger your retrieval beacon, and _get out_.”

There was silence for a moment, and Widowmaker was about to close the laptop when O’Deorain spoke one last time:  
  
“Good luck.”

She scoffed at the very idea while she closed the laptop. Luck was for _amateurs._

* * *

Infiltrating the compound and eliminating a pair of Bastion units left on patrol had been easier than she’d expected, and the reason became clear when Widowmaker found the remains of an OR-14, the head slagged by series of small caliber pulse rounds that had burst through the weaker plating around the optics and shattered the CPU core.

She knew exactly what weapons did that sort of damage.

After all, she’d seen it before so many times.

_Ah, ma chérie. How did Overwatch even learn of this place?_

Perhaps the Gorilla wasn’t as foolish as his friend.

Regardless, it was a problem.

Widowmaker snapped her arm out and let the grappling hook yank her atop one of the bunkers, then snapped her visor down, casting the world into shades of red.    
  
Two Omnic heat signatures stood out like bonfires against the frigid night - another Bastion, guarding the entrance to the western bunker, and something in the underground portion of the lab, the quadruped shape suggesting another OR class unit.

_That will be unpleasant to deal with in close quarters. But where...ah!_

Tracer’s heat signature flared and flickered like a candle in the storm as she disappeared and reappeared thanks to the help of her device. She had apparently been clearing the aboveground bunkers from the north, while Widowmaker had approached from the south.

The dancing candle burst into the air just outside of the arc being covered by the Bastion, and sparks of hot metal and a cone of flame burst forth to seek her as the roar of the omnic’s rotary cannon split the night.

At first Widowmaker had planned to let the annoyance eliminate the Bastion for her. It was much more efficient that way. She would evade detection a little longer, that way, and perhaps she could retrieve the “samples” without anyone being the wiser.

She certainly didn’t _enjoy_ watching Tracer fight. That was a ridiculous suggestion. She didn’t enjoy anything but the hunt. The chase. The kill.

But of course the girl had such _artistry_ in how she danced, fought, and pursued her…

Those considerations went to the wayside as she focused on the fight. Tracer moved almost too quickly to be followed, weaving in and out of the way as the Bastion rocked back and forth, spraying bullets in a futile attempt to put steel on target.

Tracer had done serious damage to the omnic but hadn’t completely disabled it when something went amiss. Perhaps the Bastion’s predictive targeting had managed to anticipate her next return to reality, or perhaps it was as simple as the girl’s devilish luck finally running out.

Regardless of the reason, there was a burst of sparks that scattered across the snow, and the girl flew bonelessly to the side, her momentum at least carrying her out of immediate danger.

The Bastion shifted to its bipedal configuration, a small self-repair module rising to begin mending what it could as the machine stomped forward, the smaller automatic rifle that formed its arm racking and loading a fresh magazine.

Logically, Widowmaker knew she should let the machine finish the job for her. It would allow her to complete the mission without interference. The remaining omnics would assume Tracer had been the only threat, and with her eliminated they would be that much easier to silence. The reborn Overwatch would suffer a major blow to morale and combat effectiveness, and politically the news that an omnic had killed the woman who was still a beloved icon to many in the United Kingdom would only increase the strife between humans and machines there. Talon would be quite pleased by the entire chain of events.

But to have their game come to such an _unsatisfying_ end…

Before she even realized she’d made a decision, Widowmaker was rising to her feet. The Kiss met her shoulder and her eye the scope. The Bastion’s baleful red optic filled her vision as it turned towards the sudden movement, and a crack of thunder rolled across the sky.

The Bastion’s headless body fell to the ground, and she allowed herself a moment to savor the machine’s destruction before she leapt to the ground, making her way to the girl’s side as she turned herself over.

“ _You_ …” Tracer’s eyes were wide with surprise, but there was a hazy, unfocused quality to them that spoke of either concussion, shock, or both. “You _saved_ me.”

Widowmaker hid the rush of relief she felt with a roll of her eyes. “Did I? How inconvenient.”

Tracer pushed herself up to her knees, more sparks shooting off the damaged harness. “Oh, come off it! You _saved_ me. _Why?!”_

Widowmaker shouldered her rifle and opened one of the hidden compartments on her suit. “I will not allow a _machine_ to take your life.”

“Aww.” Tracer let out a pained laugh. “You _do_ like me.”

She snorted dismissively as she knelt down. “Hold still - you probably have a concussion. I have a biotic injection - it will keep you from losing what little brain cells you have left.”

“Naaaah,” Tracer stood with a distinct wobble. “You know me, luv! One sec an’ I’ll be back in…business…” Her face fell with dismay as she looked down at the accelerator strapped to her chest, finally realizing several bullets had struck the device. “Oh, _bugger_ me.”

“Perhaps later,” Widowmaker said dryly as she examined the back of the device. “This appears undamaged.”

Tracer sank back to the snowy ground with a groan. “Yeah. ‘S why I’m still here. It’s still functioning enough to stabilize, but not enough to let me do...y’know. Stuff.” She looked back up, and Widowmaker found herself looking down into the girl’s eyes. “You wanted to kill me properly? Now’s the time.”

Widowmaker gave her a look of pure disgust. “Properly? You are addled and crippled. There is nothing proper about _that_.” She held up the syringe, the contents shimmering a faint gold. “Will you allow me to administer this?”

Tracer looked down at her chest, then nodded. “Guess I don’t have much choice - I expect you wouldn’t let me just call my ride home.”

“Not while there is another omnic in the bunker below ground.” Widowmaker didn’t bring up the rest of her mission’s objectives.

“Yeah, fair...wouldn’t want to get shot down out here.” Tracer shook her head again, then sat up as straight as she could manage. “Right. Jab away, then.”

Widowmaker would be lying if she didn’t take a _bit_ of pleasure from opening the throat of Tracer’s jacket and tugging the thermal layer she was wearing beneath it down enough to expose her neck. For that matter, she was _delighted_ to stab the syringe into the vein, plunging the biotic solution into the annoying girl’s blood.

Tracer gasped as the injection spread through her, the golden glow dispersing as she opened her eyes, her gaze once again clear headed and focused. “ _Hang on_. That’s...that felt like the stuff _Cap_ shot me up with not too long ago. Where did you get that thing?”

Widowmaker tossed the empty syringe away, then stepped back, drawing her rifle again. “Not from Amari, if that is what you are asking. It is...a derivative of Ziegler’s work, much like her darts. Something that was given to me for this mission as an emergency measure.”

Tracer grunted as she zipped up her jacket again, then drew her pistols. “So - what happens now?”

Widowmaker gestured to the bunker. “As I said - one omnic remains below ground. It needs to be eliminated and the weapons contained.”

“Fat lot of good I’ll do with my accelerator on the blink,” Tracer groused.  
  
Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t batted an eye at the mention of the bioweapons. _That_ was interesting. “If you can still shoot, it will be a useful distraction.”

“Magazines won’t be able to recharge like this,” Tracer admitted, “but I’ve got full clips in both and a pulse bomb left.”

“Then that will do.” Widowmaker gestured to the bunker door. “Open it, _s’il vous plaît._ I will cover you.”

That earned her a sarcastic little look from the girl, but Tracer went willingly enough to the door, punching in the same access code that she'd been provided with.

Some part of her wondered if the Omnium, Overwatch, and Talon had all pilfered the data from the same archives. It would be oddly fitting.

The armored door ground open, and they proceeded inside, and making their way to the elevator that would carry them into the labs below.

* * *

The heavily processed and scrubbed air of the lab was dry, with a faintly antiseptic tang. The temperature was much warmer, and the muted ‘night shift’ lighting and dull grey of the walls made the lab complex feel quite confining.

Widowmaker didn’t think of herself as claustrophobic, generally, but everything combined to make her feel quite ill at ease - particularly considering why she was here and what she was supposed to retrieve.

“It’s all a bit _creepy_ , isn’t it?” Tracer looked around, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead. “Like being stuck in a submarine.”

She tried to hide her surprise at the girl voicing her own thoughts beneath a bite of sarcasm. “I am not surprised that you should be uncomfortable with quiet.”

Tracer huffed. “I like quiet just _fine_ when I’m home and not getting shot at!” She looked around. “Stuck in a dark, twisty hole - oh, and did I mention it’s a bloody _bioweapon factory_ \- with _you?”_ She tossed her head, looking back with a sardonic glare. “No offense, but I’d _much_ rather be in bed.”

Widowmaker smirked. “How forward of you. And just what would we be doing in your bed, _chérie?”_

Tracer looked away, sputtering, flushing a rich rose red. “I - _what_ \- no! That’s not! Don’t you even!”

“Mm. What is the phrase…?” Widowmaker swayed her hips slightly as she walked forward, throwing the girl off just a bit more. “ _Your loss.”_

“I _know_ you’re trying to distract me,” Tracer groused. “It’s _not_ working! Didn’t you hear what I said? About the weapons? Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Of _course_ I do.” Widowmaker turned to glare back at the girl. “Do you think _anyone_ would actually be here by choice? That I am so obsessed with you as to simply _appear_ in the middle of this godforsaken wasteland simply because you are there?”

She’d expected Tracer to get angry or flustered again, but instead the girl took a step back, and then laughed. “OK, yeah. I guess I earned that…” Her eyes turned thoughtful. “Still - _why?”_

“Why? ‘Why’ what?”  
  
Tracer walked past her, looking into one of the open doorways and sweeping it with her pistols. “Why _are_ you here? Winston tracked a launch from Siberia, and Athena pulled this old place up in her records…”  
  
Widowmaker considered her answer as she checked the adjacent lab, confirming it was empty. “Because Talon does not wish the Omnium to have whatever they are seeking here - and failing that, we will need to engineer countermeasures.”

“ _Huh.”_ Tracer’s voice became softer, and more thoughtful. “Didn’t expect anyone at Talon would care about a cure. Figured you’d mention selling them to the highest bidder or something.”

Widowmaker shrugged as she advanced to the next set of doorways. “I suppose that is always possible...but I was not told of any such plans.”

Tracer’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, and I’m _sure_ your bosses tell you everything that’s going on.”

“Do _yours?”_

“...yeah,” Tracer murmured so softly that Widowmaker was reasonably sure she wasn’t supposed to hear it. “Fair enough.”

There was no sign of the final omnic or any sample containers in any of the below ground labs - nothing except an armored door painted with biohazard warning signs and the same phrases repeated in several languages:

 

 **MASTER STORAGE** ****  
**  
** **AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY**

**PROTECTIVE GEAR REQUIRED**

 

“Door’s still sealed,” Tracer observed as she looked at the control panel. “Don’t see any sign of the keypad being used.”  
  
Widowmaker shook her head and pointed to the floor. “Scuff marks at the entry. Fresh.” She raised her rifle and pointed it to a port at the side of the access panel. “It didn’t need the keypad. It plugged in.”  
  
Tracer frowned, then holstered a pistol so she could reach into her jacket. “Two can play at _that_ game.”

She pulled out a small black object that snapped into the port - not so different from the module Reaper had been given to use at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, in fact.

The device hummed softly for a few seconds, then chimed brightly just before the panel’s indicators switched from red to green.

A buzzer sounded, and the door slid open with a soft hiss and a blast of frigid air.  
  
“Overpressure,” Tracer observed as she pulled the codebreaker and put it back into her pocket. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“They usually use that to keep outside air and potential contaminants _out_ ,” Tracer explained as she led the way inside what appeared to be an airlock. “Could just be storage protocols...could mean they had some kind of a breach.”

Widowmaker frowned as she punched the control to close the door behind her. “According to my briefing, the lab reported that it was in lockdown after it was overrun by the omnics during the Crisis. We assumed it was an automatic response to attack.”

“...let’s hope so.” Tracer cycled the inner door open, and took a sharp breath of dismay at what was revealed. “ _Shit.”_

What was supposed to be a pathway between two long rows of cold storage units was covered in glittering shards of glass and spilled liquids. The storage unit doors that hadn’t been torn open were riddled with bullet holes, and the sample containers that could be seen through the door had all been shattered by small arms fire.

Tracer slammed the door control, locking it back down. “They must have taken what they wanted and destroyed the rest. She looked around the floor with a frantic air. “Glass - fragments - _anything_ on the floor? Are you standing in anything?! _Are we exposed?!”_

“Even with the overpressure you had the door open for several seconds,” Widowmaker observed flatly. “If anything in that room uses an airborne vector…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know!” Tracer seemed to realize she was on the edge, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to push herself back. Murmuring a soft ‘Dammit’, she seemed to be counting before finally opening her eyes again. “Right. OK.” She carefully lifted one foot to inspect it, and then the other. “Doesn’t look like it tracked anything in here. You?”  
  
Widowmaker shouldered her rifle and did the same, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing _obvious_ ,” Tracer corrected her darkly. “We had better assume we’re still at risk until someone can get a look at us.” She looked at the panel controls. “Should be a fail-safe here somewhere. Set the timer, blow the vault. Anyone waiting for you upstairs?”  
  
“I have a beacon,” Widowmaker answered honestly. “You?”  
  
“Same, basically. Like I said, transport waiting for me to call. Automated.” She reached up and tapped the communicator tucked behind her ear lightly. “Problem is, that means if they got what they came for…”  
  
“The omnic might have been able to reach the surface with no one the wiser.” Widowmaker closed her eyes and thought back to the blueprints she’d reviewed. “There _is_ a manual access ladder - but it is too narrow for an OR series omnic.”  
  
“Bloody thing probably waited for us to bring the elevator back and then snuck on...figured we’d sweep for it and maybe get stuck in here.” Tracer dropped her goggles back into place. “The ladder - can you get us there?”  
  
Widowmaker nodded. “Their transport was to the Southwest. If we can get to it in time…”  
  
Tracer smirked. “I may not have my accelerator, but I’m still faster than one of those things - even if it did get a head start.”

Widowmaker hit the button to cycle the airlock and release them back into the lab, anticipation sharpening her senses and making her heart beat just slightly faster. “Then the hunt is on.”

* * *

Once they had armed the fail-safe and made their way to the ladder, Widowmaker had used her grapple to help them race to the surface, the steadily falling snow just beginning to cover the omnic’s tracks.

Widowmaker considered grappling through the trees, but the difficulty in finding branches to support her weight while the storm continued to blow through gave her pause - as did the risk of alerting the omnic.  Running through the snow was not pleasant, but it _was_ quiet, at least.

She had tried to use her visor, but the blowing snow was causing too much interference. The only clue they had was the direction the omnic had to be heading - and the hope that it wouldn’t be too late.

They were both breathing hard from the exertion by the time the blocky shape of the omnium transport craft rose out of the storm, and Widowmaker didn’t need her visor to tell that Tracer was shivering beneath her thermal gear.

“Are you cold,” she asked with a hint of concern in her voice, “or sick?”

“What?” Tracer turned to face her with brows knitting beneath her goggles.  
  
“You are shivering,” Widowmaker observed. “Is it the cold, or something else? You said to assume -”  
  
“Oh.” Tracer shook her head. “Right. I’m just cold, that’s all. Not sure how you _aren’t_ , honestly.”

“I don’t feel the cold,” Widowmaker said quietly. “I don’t feel anything.”  
  
“Even in _this?”_ Tracer gestured with one pistol to the snow. “That’s got to be dangerous. But...thanks for asking, I guess.”

“I am not _worried_ about you,” Widowmaker tried to protest. “But if you become sick, then I am likely to be infected as well.”

It almost sounded plausible.

“Uh-huh.” Tracer smirked despite her shivering. “You sure you wouldn’t miss tearin’ around after me if I was gone, luv?”

“I don’t _miss_ anything,” Widowmaker lied as she started heading towards the transport again. “Or anyone.”

Despite keeping her tone flat, something in Tracer’s voice made it clear the younger woman didn’t believe a word of it. “Sure you don’t.”

Widowmaker tried to ignore the little sting she felt at those words, focusing on the transport.  
  
“It’s dark,” she murmured as they approached. “Not preparing to take off…”  
  
She had been about to suggest trying to use Tracer’s bomb to disable it when there was a sound like blaring electronic music coming out of the trees, and Widowmaker felt Tracer slam into her a heartbeat before a burst of fire slashed through the air where she’d been standing.

She heard Tracer gasp as they hit the ground, but Widowmaker’s attention was more focused on the OR-14 that had emerged, smoke rising from the small caliber autocannons that sat on either side of its face.

It had a silver container mounted between its shoulders with a black biohazard symbol on it - whatever samples it had taken from the lab must have been in there.

The blocky head turned towards her, the baleful red optics cutting through the haze.

Without thinking, Widowmaker fired her grapple towards the transport, the hook latching onto the tail fin. Yanked into the air, she fired a burst from the Kiss, the rounds sparking off the omnic’s armor.

Her feet had barely touched the transport’s hull before she was firing again, but she realized there was no sound of pulse pistols - no other rounds striking the machine to keep it off balance.

The OR ‘sang’ another baleful burst of tones, raising the fusion driver mounted at the end of one arm to spit packets of white hot plasma. Widowmaker lunged out of the line of fire, dropping down to the wing as the omnic continued to fire.

She tucked herself into a ball and rolled, hitting the snow with a grunt, and a wave of heat flashed over her as the omnic’s fire blew out one of the transport’s engines.

The omnic made an harsh buzzing sound of dismay as it ceased fire, sweeping its head back and forth as it took in the damage, then turned and began to gallop to the west, ignoring both of them even as Widowmaker rose to her feet and fired at the joints of its legs.

_If I attempt to strike the head or power core, the risk of breaching the samples is too great. Damn!_

There was a groan, and Widowmaker realized that Tracer was still down where she’d fallen. Whirling, she ran to her side, and realized what must have happened. The girl had been hit by the bullets meant for her, and without her accelerator functioning properly there was no way for her to undo the damage.

“Good thing...it’s cold,” Tracer quipped as she knelt down next to her. “Keep me from bleedin’ out, right? Like layin’ on an ice pack...I hardly feel it!”  
  
“You stupid, _foolish_ girl!” Widowmaker looked at the wound in her side and tried to do what triage she could without removing the device that was responsible for keeping Tracer alive. “You cannot ‘recall’ this!”

“Don’t worry about _me._ ” Tracer reached to her back and pulled the pulse bomb free, offering it up to her. “Take this - _stop them_. They’re probably tryin’ to hit the border. Find a landline. Call for another ride. You have to get the bloody canister before it can ring home.”

Widowmaker took the bomb and weighed it in her hand. “Tracer… _Lena_ , if I leave you like this…”

“I can call my ride, remember?” Tracer gave her a look that Widowmaker couldn’t quite read. “Besides...said you wouldn’t miss me. Said you wouldn’t let an omnic end my life, right? Prove it! _Finish the job!_ ”

Widowmaker swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. “Very well.”

“Squeeze the center disc to arm the bomb,” Tracer instructed. “Three second fuse, so don’t hang on to it.”

Widowmaker nodded. “I understand.”

Tracer let her head fall back into the snow, her voice tight with pain as the shock of her injury began to fade. “Off you go, then.”

* * *

She’d tracked the omnic through the snow, and found it trying to reach a cell relay tower, almost certainly intending to call for assistance.

A hard core of anger sat inside of her, colder even than the bitter winds, and with that icy rage came the gift of clarity.

Her first two shots shattered the clamps at the OR-14’s shoulders, sending the sample container to the ground.

Her third had blinded the omnic, leaving it thrashing madly as it attempted to lock onto her using passive sensors.

Rather than a fourth, Widowmaker had armed and thrown the pulse bomb, feeling a surge of satisfaction as it anchored onto the omnic’s broad chest. Snatching the sample container and hugging it to her chest as she fired her grapple, Widowmaker felt the concussive _thump_ of the bomb’s detonation an instant before a shower of snow slammed into her back.

By the time she had returned to the wrecked transport, the snow had finally begun to slow. Tracer was gone, the blood trailing off into the snow, and before she even thought about what she was doing or why, Widowmaker began to follow it.  

The first thing she’d done after making sure the girl was still alive was to check the earpiece she was wearing - dark, with no indication she’d actually managed to call for help.

Her own retrieval beacon sat heavy in the compartment on her suit where it had been hidden. She could call for pickup. She had the samples. She had destroyed the omnics. The mission was a success, and if she brought Tracer back to Talon alive…

_If you take her to Talon, you know exactly what they will do to her._

She had no doubt that someone who looked like Tracer would live, after O’Deorain and the rest finished their work, but there would be no more chase. No more game. No more thrill.

That was unacceptable - and so was leaving the girl in a snowy grave.

That left only one other option.

Widowmaker removed her recon visor and dropped it to the snow before taking Tracer’s earpiece and settling it on her ear, then tapped the button she found on the side.

“Hello, Tracer,” a synthesized female voice greeted her. “Are you ready for retrieval?”

Widowmaker took a deep breath. “Tracer is down and in need of medical attention. Lock onto this signal and send assistance.”

There was a long pause before the voice spoke again. “Understood. Transport will be en route shortly.”  
  
“Any medical personnel should be aware we were in a Class A bioweapons facility and may have been exposed. I am not feeling any ill effects, but there is a risk of contamination.”

“I will inform Doctor Ziegler,” the voice assured her. “Can you stabilize Tracer for extraction?”

“No,” Widowmaker answered truthfully, “but I will do my best to keep her alive.”

“Very well. Please keep this channel open.”

Shouldering the canister, Widowmaker carefully cradled Tracer against her as she stood up.  
  
When she returned to the start of the blood trail, the omnic’s transport was still burning. She put Tracer down as gently as she could, then took the sample container off of her back and threw it into the flames, hurling her retrieval beacon after it.

Widowmaker sunk down to sit in the snow, holding Tracer to her chest. She had little enough body heat to give, but it was better than nothing at all.

With a little luck, the heat from the fires would help to keep them both warm until their rescue arrived.


End file.
